“Wake up, sleepy pants. You’ve slept in.” Dad places a tray of breakfast on my nightstand. I curl my fists and rub my eyes.
“You seemed a little under the weather yesterday, so I let you sleep in even though you had practice this morning.”
Holy shit. He let me miss practice? He is usually on my ass if I wake up after six o’clock on training days.
“Thanks,” I say gravelly.
Dad loiters at my door, glancing at me behind his shoulder, like he wants to say something.
“Dad, I’m naked.” I point at my duvet, arching an eyebrow.
“So?” He arches an eyebrow. “Nothing I haven’t seen, you know.”
“Not after I grew pubic hair, you didn’t. Kindly evacuate yourself from my personal space.”
“Do you want to talk about anything?” he insists.
Giving him a blank stare, I reply, “Like what?”
“Football? College?” he asks anxiously. But he doesn’t have to be anxious at all.
I already fucked up my one and only chance at happiness. “Wanna show me that aviation-stimulator thingy upstairs?”
“Simulator,” I correct. “And no.” It is only after he leaves when I allow myself to grab a pillow, press it against my face, and let out a scream.
I missed my deadline.
The dream is gone. The Air Force Academy is a dud.
I’ve never felt so empty in my life, and I’m starting to understand Bailey for going to extreme lengths to chase her dream.
Eighteen fucking years of love, devotion, laser focus, and an RC jet hobby that had me spending all my pocket money since I was three—down the goddamn drain.
When I was five, my dad’s friend from college came to visit us. He flew a fighter jet and had all these videos on his phone. The jaw-dropping stunts and maneuvers.
He was supercool, super chill, super…I don’t know, content.
By the end of his visit—which lasted four days in which I pestered him with a thousand questions a day—he asked my dad to subscribe me to all those YouTube channels where I could learn more about aviation. Left me his aviator glasses too.
I’ve been an addict since.
I’m so destroyed, I don’t even bother to be angry at Thalia for avoiding my ass when I came knocking on her door yesterday.
She was there. I saw her ducking and rushing into an inner room through the window.
She looked like a mess, and I’m beginning to think there’s more to her weird behavior than she lets on.
I drag myself to school. The only thing keeping me on my feet is the memory of Saturday night.
I make it just to the tail end of football practice, when Coach Taylor gathers everyone around in a circle.
He tips his baseball cap down. “Got an important announcement for y’all.”
“Ballsy’s getting a nut-shrinking surgery?” Finn shrieks. “Is he donating the rest to the Nut Growers Association?”
“It’s a medical issue!” Todd kicks the grass, fists curled tight.
Grim spots me from the corner of his eye and jerks his chin my way. “Lookie here. Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”
Coach turns around, pinning me with a frosty look before going back to his clipboard. “As I said, I have an announcement. It’s been a long time coming.”
Thankfully, no one makes an orgasm joke. I stand next to Grim. He ignores me.
He’s about to have his little victory dance, though. I know because even though I wasn’t here for the head count when they reelected the captain, I know he annihilated me in votes.
“For the past few weeks, we’ve shown resilience, excellence, and longevity as a team. Our game is good—but our morale is weak. To make this team invincible, I decided democracy isn’t best after all.”
Everyone looks at me, shifting uncomfortably. Coach soldiers on. “Lev Cole has outperformed on the field as a player. As a captain, however, he’s shown zero enthusiasm and scored minus ten on commitment.”
If this is the part where I’m supposed to get offended, it misses its target by a few states.
“He and I both agreed we need someone with boots on the ground who will be here ten minutes early for every practice and stay the extra time afterwards. Someone who will take the time to talk to each player individually, offer encouragement and guidance. Someone who doesn’t have players looking like they got into a fistfight with a backhoe under his watch.”
Taylor’s eyes land on Austin, who still looks like a slapped ass with a wig.
“The backhoe was about to put out,” Austin mumbles. “But someone threw a hissy fit. Not naming names or anything.”
“He deserved to get his ass kicked,” I grit out, folding my arms over my chest.
“Problem is, it’s his face you wrecked.” Coach Taylor sighs.
“My bad. They look the same.”
Coach Taylor pretends he didn’t hear that and smacks his clipboard over his assistant’s chest. “In short, we reelected the captain, and the person you chose is Grim Kwon. He won the majority of votes, so I trust you’ll be happy with the decision. Congratulations are in order, buddy, it wasn’t even a competition.”
Keep rubbing it in, ass face.
Grim stiffens. His Adam’s apple rolls before his mouth cracks into a hesitant smile.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile with teeth. Or emotions. Prior to today, I wasn’t sure he possessed either.
“Holy shit, Coach. Are you serious?” His ears darken with a blush.
“No, I’m joking. This is my laughing face,” Coach Taylor says flatly.
Everyone turns to look at me, as if asking for permission to celebrate. So I jerk Grim into a hug, ruffling his hair. “Come here, fucker. Congratulations.”
“Stay the fuck away from me,” he hisses into my ear, pushing me off. “You’re a day late and a dollar short. You held my dream hostage for three years just because you didn’t have the guts to chase yours. If this is how you treat your best friend, I don’t want to know how you treat your enemies.”
He bumps his shoulder into mine, moving on. The squad gathers around to clap Grim’s shoulder and applaud him. I’m about to remind him football is not a fucking kindness competition—that I was chosen because I was better—but then I catch her from the corner of my eye. A lithe body clad in the gymnastics team varsity hurrying from the parking lot and toward the gymnasium.
Thalia.
I’ve never run so fast in my life. I’m practically hovering over the ground before I get to her. She notices me coming. Panic mars her face.
I catch the hem of her jacket, pull her back, and pin her against the wall. She is trapped between my arms, looking like a cornered animal.
Leaning forward, I bare my teeth at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. If you drop a bomb, expect some casualties. You owe me some answers. And I’m about to get them now.”
“I was actually going to call you.” Thalia is all over me like a nasty rash after a shady hookup.
Her hands are on my chest and she puckers her lips, waiting for a kiss that isn’t coming.
It’s like she did a one-eighty as soon as I caught up with her.
I would call her on her bullshit, but I’ve more pressing issues to deal with, so I appreciate her cooperating, on a level.
“What’s going on?” I demand, removing her hand from my cheek.
“What do you mean, Levy baby?” She blinks up at me innocently.
“I mean about the threat you made against Bailey,” I growl, adding, “I mean you insinuating if I make this breakup official, you’re gonna hurt my best friend. I don’t take well to threats. In fact, I’m in the business of destroying the people who make them.”
“Aww, again with your precious Bailey,” she hisses back, and there it is.
The pain she promised I’m not going to be able to inflict on her. All over her face, like scars.
“Tell me what’s happening.” I don’t flinch. “Where is this shit coming from? Why don’t you wanna break up?”
She slams her mouth shut. Stares down at the floor. “Oh, you big moron!” She rolls her tear-filled eyes skyward, shaking her head. “I’ve never wanted to break up with you. I was always in it for the long haul, waiting for you to wake up and realize how good we are together.”
My jaw clenches, and she presses forward, tossing her head back. “Remember the scholarship I told you about? The one I’ve been given?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Well, it’s gone. As in, not happening anymore. They withdrew their offer. Academic dishonesty.” She drops her head down so I can’t see her face, and something in me immediately goes out to her, and I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Shit, T. I’m so sorry.”
The shoulder I’m holding is shaking as she continues, “There was a discrepancy between the grades I gave them and the ones All Saints High sent them. It’s done. I’m not going to go to any college. And…and…I needed a plan B. And I guess you were it.”
Even though I’m still angry at her, I cannot not-understand where she’s coming from.
She doesn’t have the means to get the future she wants. I press my forehead against hers, shaking my head. “You should’ve said something. I could’ve helped you. We could still make school work. You could still apply—”
I notice that her suddenly happy gaze is drifting elsewhere behind my shoulder, so I turn my head to see what caught her attention.
From across the street, I spot Bailey standing next to her beat-up car.
She is staring at us, and I know what it looks like. Fuuuuuuuck.
And now I recognize the truth for what it is.
Thalia might’ve lost her scholarship, but she also lost her fucking plot. This was a trap, designed to show Bailey we’re still an item.
Thalia called her here. Expected her. She timed her arrival for when football practice was over. She doesn’t even have practice now.
The gymnasium is closed. And we look intimate, close, touching each other, having an emotional talk.
I whip my head back to Thalia because I need to finish this mess with her before I extinguish the fire she started with Bailey. “Jesus Christ, you’re vile.”
I can see the moment she contemplates denying what’s obvious and trying to justify herself. She chooses the latter.
“She’s not right for you, Lev. You deserve so much better. She’s deadweight!” Thalia grabs the lapels of my varsity and clings to it like a lifeline.
I shake her off. “You’re just confused because you grew up together. You and I…we’re both top athletes.”
“And this matters because?”
“We want the same things.”
“No. I want her.”
“She’s a junkie!” Thalia snaps, and this is when I lose the remainder of my goddamn patience for her.
“Better a junkie than a loser. It’s not like you have your shit together. Bailey is a good person in a bad situation. You, on the other hand, are a menace to society and such a waste of oxygen, I’m surprised the government didn’t declare you a fucking global warming problem,” I spit out, losing my cool. “Don’t try comparing yourself to her. You’ll always come out short.”
Thalia forces herself to smile, even though she’d probably love nothing but to slap me.
“You’ll never understand a survivalist—a person who fights for their existence. Your instincts are too dull, Lev Cole.” She licks her lips, hanging those empty, generic-blue eyes on my face.
How could I ever have compared them to the tranquility and solitude oozing from Dove’s arctic blues?
“You may have a six-pack, but for all intents and purposes, you’re a fat cat. Satisfied, content, spoiled.” It’s amazing how much she doesn’t know me. My journey. My struggles. But maybe that’s not on her. I never did let her in. Thalia pouts seductively, running a manicured finger over my chest. “But I’ll still give you a chance to change your mind, because you have all the power here, and I still think what we have is salvageable. The offer still stands, but not for long, Lev. Call me when you get a clue.” She tosses her hair over one shoulder.
Turning around from her, I’m about to haul ass to Bailey and explain everything, but by the time I make a move, she’s gone.
Her car is gone. She left before she witnessed this fight.
She probably thinks Thalia and I are together, and for an addict trying to stay on the right path, that’s a big fucking problem.
Skipping school isn’t even a question of if but how fucking quickly I can sprint my ass to my car.
It takes me ten minutes to get home—five less than it normally does when I refrain from pissing all over every driving rule in existence—and I barge into her house, panting.
I run up to her room, and it’s empty. I rummage the house for a sign of her, then notice the rocking chair outside is moving rhythmically up and down. Bingo.
Pushing her balcony doors open, I start, “Bails, I can explain—”
“Please don’t,” Jaime responds laconically, just as I round the chair facing the pool and realize he is the one occupying it.
He’s holding a fizzy pink lemonade and a copy of The Economist, his aviator shades on. “My teenage drama days are long gone—just the way I like ’em.”
Standing up straighter and trying to resemble someone he might consider as his son-in-law one day, I say, “Hi, Mr. F. Have you seen Bailey?”
“I have, plenty of times. But not in the last couple hours. She’s dropping some of her old clothes off at Goodwill. You’re welcome to wait for her here.”
“I’ll come back in an hour,” I mutter.
Jaime looks up from his newspaper, smiling. “If you say.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “I do say.”
“Watch that tone, Levy boy.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, there’s saying and then there’s doing. Like, if you say, tell everyone who is close to you how much you wanna go to the Air Force Academy but in practice continue playing ball to appease your father even though it would kill him to know he clipped your wings like that, your word ain’t worth much. You feeling me?”
Jaime has always been like a second father to me—came with the territory of being so close with Bails—so this cuts deep.
“Dad doesn’t—”
“Oh, he does. Bailey had a word with him,” Jaime says. Fuck. That’s why he questioned me this morning about colleges. I misread that whole thing.
Also: Bailey stood up for me?
Bad. Ass.
No wonder I want all of her seconds.
“He was so against it,” I say, barely audible.
“Yeah, well, my kid has a knack for persuading people to do stuff.”
True that. Bailey is the best. She made Dad see reason. But how?
“This neighborhood is way too fucking small and nosy,” I mutter, turning around and marching toward my house.
His laughter rings in my ears all the way to my door. “Youth is wasted on the young, buddy.”
